Scars are the yarn to your rovings and not for a moment these recapitulate the reach of endeavours you had to execute. It becomes hefty to be buoyant and joyous at times, to keep going by enshrouding how you reckon on the inside. Vanquished self kept hidden and the wounds everlasting.
Scars prevail because they are the truth, you reflect upon why you are shattered and standing there in the dark isolation making you feel intensively how heedless is this world. You know but you still are insubstantial inside and trying to assume that you are all ok.
You are stucked in between what you had thought and whats going on with you. You sit and taste all of the bitterness alone. You see your open wounds bleeding and still you are not dead with the dread. You plucked a rose that had pricked your hand and you stood there watching how much could your hand bleed.
You felt the bursting aches of the slingstones shot at you that stabbed you badly but you still loved the pain of your bruised skin. You char your soul and then you want to keep it alive just like that.
We all are somehow stand in between this!
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